Hit the Floor
by albydarned
Summary: Prowl and Jazz have secretly wanted Bluestreak for a very, very long time. Imagine their surprise when they discover that the sniper wants them too. Sticky.
1. Hit the Floor

Title: **Hit the Floor**  
Author: albydarned  
Fandom: _Transformers G1_  
Rating: NC-17/MA  
Pairing: Prowl/Jazz/Bluestreak

Summary: Prowl and Jazz have secretly wanted Bluestreak for a very, _very_ long time. Imagine their surprise when they discover that the sniper wants them too.

Author's Note: I'm not gonna lie, kiddos. This is ~7,000 words of porn. But, in my defense, this is also representing a political stance. Because there should be _far_ more P/J/B fics out there! *frowns*

Disclaimer: Not mine. 

**Hit the Floor**

***

"Would you like some high-grade, Bluestreak?" Prowl asked, having already pulled three empty cubes out. A beaker of the potent fuel was sitting on the Second-in-Command's desk, the dim light from the candles which were strewn throughout the quarters causing the liquid to shimmer and sparkle. Bluestreak found himself licking his lip components as his oral cavity suddenly went dry. Prowl and Jazz had certainly gone all out in order to create a … _romantic_ environment.

"You're not talkin', Blue," Jazz said, having just locked the door to the room before slowly walking towards the nervous gunner. "The only time _that_ happens is when somethin's upsettin' ya. S'there anythin' we can do for ya to make you relax, baby?" Taking a seat behind the younger mech, Jazz ran a servo along one of Bluestreak's doorwings, smirking when the appendage shivered under his touch.

Prowl gave his bondmate a reprimanding look, which was easily ignored by the visored mech. Realizing that he was unlikely to receive a response from Bluestreak, the tactician went ahead and poured three small cubes of high grade, balancing all three in his arms before making his way over to the pair seated on his couch. "I hope you are not feeling any pressure here, Bluestreak. If at any time you feel uncomfortable, you can leave and neither Jazz nor I will think anything of it."

"'Cept disappointment," Jazz remarked, switching his attentions to Bluestreak's side even as he accepted a cube from his bondmate. "We've both been lookin' forward to this all duty cycle, Bluestreak. I had to stop Prowl from callin' you in early at least a dozen times. Y'have no idea how happy you've made us by acceptin' our invitation."

Even though Jazz _was_ trying to calm the jittery mech next to him down, he was being completely honest with Bluestreak. For vorns, he and Prowl had been thinking about Bluestreak. At first, they had kept their thoughts to themselves, not knowing that the other was attracted to the gray gunner and instead focusing all of their attentions on each other. But after their bonding, when all of their secrets were revealed to the new bondmate, they had begun constructing their fantasies together, imaging scenario after scenario, each one involving the young mech in a variety of new positions and places. But they had both resigned themselves to just that: fantasizing about Bluestreak. They never expected to be able to _touch_ the other mech, not like that.

That is, until Ironhide cornered them one day in the rec room, the old mech half-wasted on high grade and accusing them both of teasing and tempting his subordinate to the point where Bluestreak couldn't go more than five minutes without mentioning Prowl or Jazz (or both of them) at least once. _The mech's half in love with the both of yeh, _Ironhide had told them with a glare, _so either let him down or blow his processors out with the best overload he's ever had, or I'll tell Red Alert that yeh've interfaced during monitor duty before. _

For the entire length of their bonding, Jazz and Prowl had never once interfaced with other mechs, either separately or together. But even their nervousness about _actually_ doing something with Bluestreak was not enough to prevent them from taking the chance, so before the work cycle had started, Jazz had caught up with Bluestreak and asked him to join them that evening in their shared quarters. The Third-in-Command had made it very clear that they weren't asking Bluestreak over to play a game of charades, either; _we're gonna be wearin' our best polish for ya tonight, baby Blue_ was hardly the most subtle thing Jazz could have said, after all.

"I've never done this before," Bluestreak finally admitted, looking down into his cube of high-grade, sporadic shivers racing along his frame, emphasizing his nervousness. "Not the part about … about being with a bonded pair, either, but the whole thing and Ironhide might've heard me say once or twice that I liked the both of you but I didn't honestly think he would ever _say_ anything to either of you and I'm sorry if this is making you uncomfortable I should just leave …"

"You are not making us uncomfortable, Bluestreak," Prowl said, sitting down on the other side of the gunner and placing a warm, reassuring servo on the mech's thigh, running the digits of his hand up and down the trembling metal. "And drink some high grade before your vents start hitching," Prowl added with a smile, one which almost dissolved into laughter as Bluestreak downed half of his cube in one shot.

"Ironhide only told us that you liked us, not any of that other stuff," Jazz said, leaning more heavily into Bluestreak and tilting his helm up so that his ex-vents were gusting warm air across the gunner's audios. "An' it made us _happy_ to hear that you liked us, baby. We've been thinkin' 'bout doin' this with you since before we even bonded."

"_Really_?" Bluestreak asked, his voice full of disbelief. From his other side, Prowl chuckled, his bondmate's building arousal affecting him as well, the hand that he had laid on Bluestreak's thigh trailing up a little further, making its way closer and closer to Bluestreak's codpiece with every pass.

"Really," Prowl confirmed, smiling as Bluestreak moaned softly, although whether it was in response to his and Jazz's touches to his frame, or the words they were saying to him (or perhaps even a combination of both), he was not sure. It didn't really matter, though, as long as they were able to keep Bluestreak producing such _wonderful_ sounds for the remainder of the evening. "Have some more to drink," he said, pressing his own cube to Bluestreak's lips and watching with a great deal of fascination as the younger mech drank, his lip components tightening and his glossa slipping out to taste the potent mix.

"Careful," Jazz murmured, kissing Bluestreak's audios lightly, flicking his glossa over the sensitive receptors. "Don't want to get him too overcharged." Bluestreak let out a soft gasp in response to Jazz's ministrations, leaning more heavily against the special-ops mech despite his nervousness so he could receive more of those tingly kisses to the side of his helm. Jazz laughed quietly; Bluestreak was the most adorable mech he'd ever met. And he couldn't wait to have the young gunner writhing in pleasure underneath him.

"It's just to take the edge off," Prowl replied, letting Bluestreak finish his own cube before pulling it away from the gray mech's mouth, setting both the empty cube as well as Bluestreak's own half-finished container on a nearby table before concentrating on the tempting mech seated between himself and his mate. Since Bluestreak shared Prowl's build type, he was _intimately_ aware of the places on the other mech's frame which were sensitive to the touch; he busied himself with Bluestreak's doorwings with one servo while the other finally came to a stop over Bluestreak's scorching-hot codpiece.

"Oh!" Bluestreak cried out, unconsciously arching into Prowl's servo as it laid over his sensitive plating. From beneath his panel, his spike and valve began to charge up, signaling their readiness for interface. He'd done some experimenting before, touching himself just to see what everything felt like, but he had never been aroused around _other_ mechs before. Truthfully, Bluestreak had only ever envisioned himself with Jazz and Prowl, and no other Autobots (or Decepticons, for that matter) had ever caught his optics. "That feels so good …"

"It will all feel good, baby Blue, we promise ya that," Jazz whispered, trailing one hand down to join with his bonded's over Bluestreak's codpiece. Together, the mated pair began prying away the warm piece of armor covering Bluestreak's interfacing components, the heady scent of lubricants filling the air as all three mechs began to heat up in anticipation. _This is even better than we'd ever imagined it, love, _Jazz told his mate over their bond, which was almost like a private communication channel set up between the pair. Emotions and sensations were also capable of traveling over the link that they shared, and for a split-second, the two shared the exact same thought; how wonderful would it be if they were able to have such intimate access to Bluestreak's inner thoughts and feelings?

Finally, Bluestreak's codpiece came away, his spike instantly pressurizing and releasing itself. Jazz licked his lip components as he wrapped his fingers around the rod, pumping Bluestreak slowly. The young gunner was moaning loudly now, his thighs spread wide and his fingers clutching at the material of the couch as he was pleasured by Jazz and Prowl. Jazz was obviously experienced, and his servo over Bluestreak's spike felt a _thousand_ times better than it had when the young 'bot had tried to stroke himself to overload once before.

Prowl watched intently as his mate began to simulate interface with Bluestreak's cord, activating his own personal recorder so that he would be able to relive the moment again and again. He noted with some degree of amusement that Bluestreak's rod was approximately the same size as his, despite the fact that the younger mech was slightly smaller than him. He imagined the feeling of Bluestreak's spike in his oral cavity, the way his jaw would have to open wider to take him all the way into his intakes, the taste of Bluestreak's transfluid pouring down into his tanks, sweet and oily.

"Want to touch you," Bluestreak managed to say, his voice laced with static and his optics completely offline. The mated pair shared a steamy look, debating over their bond whether or not they should pause long enough to make it to the berth room, or if they should just say _frag it_ and take the gunner on the couch. A particularly erotic image drifted into Prowl's processor from Jazz, who was smirking deliciously from the other side of Bluestreak's chassis; the perfect solution for their dilemma.

"We want you to touch us, Bluestreak," Prowl said, responding to Bluestreak's earlier question. The soft _snapping_ sound of Prowl's panel retracting was barely audible over Bluestreak's moans, but the other Datsun didn't have the chance to even get a _look_ at the newly-exposed spike and valve before Prowl slid off of the couch entirely, pushing the table further away and making himself quite comfortable on the floor, his legs spread wide as he made himself comfortable. "Why don't you come down here and join me?"

Bluestreak's optics relit themselves, immediately focusing on Prowl's bared components. Jazz had to keep himself from laughing; if they were organics, he was certain that Bluestreak would be drooling over the display Prowl was putting on for them. Although, to be completely honest, Jazz would have probably been joining Bluestreak, because Prowl looked utterly delectable sprawled out in front of them, showing off his internals proudly.

Wordlessly, Bluestreak slid out of Jazz's embrace and onto the floor, crawling on his servos and knee-joints towards Prowl. The gunner slid in between Prowl's spread thighs, but his shaking hands and the tension in his frame betrayed his indecision. Prowl decided to take pity on the other mech by grabbing one of Bluestreak's black servos and guiding it to his well-lubricated valve. "I'll show you how to touch me," the SIC said, letting his fingers twine with Bluestreak's as they both rimmed Prowl's port.

Together, the two Praxians sank one fingertip each into Prowl's valve, Bluestreak letting out a soft whimper as his the sensors in his finger relayed the warmth and wetness he was feeling to his processor. His spike, still over-sensitized from Jazz's ministrations, suddenly _ached_ to be seated within the tactician, the force of his arousal nearly sending Bluestreak into a premature overload. Never had he ever experienced such desire before, and to be honest, it was scaring Bluestreak a little bit.

From his vantage point on the couch, Jazz was clearly able to see the tension in Bluestreak's shaking doorwings; that paired with the fact that the usually-talkative gunner had gone strangely quiet prompted him to slip down behind Bluestreak, the Porsche molding his frame around Bluestreak's back, his arms slipping under the younger mech's doorwings to twine gently around his waist. "Talk to me lil 'bot," Jazz prompted, gently nipping at the exposed neck cables of Bluestreak's throat in between his words. "Tell us what you're thinking."

"It feels so good," Bluestreak said, his words coming out of his vocalizer almost too quickly to be understood. "Jazz, Prowl … sir, you feel so good and I _want_ you both, seems like I've wanted the both of you since I can remember definitely since you found me in Praxus and I know that I was just a youngling then and I want to be good for you both but I'm scared that I won't be any good at this and I think my internals are overheating and I don't want Ratchet to yell at me for getting hurt while interfacing."

Prowl wanted to laugh at the short tirade, but Bluestreak's fingers chose that moment to venture further into his port, brushing against a set of sensor nodes. Prowl's laughter was suddenly swallowed up by a loud moan as his hips arched up off of the floor, his own hand falling away as he tried desperately to get Bluestreak to go in _deeper_.

"See how you're makin' him go off, Blue?" Jazz asked, his optics dimming in response to his mate's pleasured writhing. Through their bond, he could partially sense how Bluestreak's fingers felt in Prowl's port; it was a ghost-like sensation tickling deep within his own valve. With a sigh, Jazz allowed his own codpiece to retract, the cooler air of the room providing a bit of relief against his overheating interfacing equipment. "You're makin' him feel very good, _very_ good actually." Kissing against Bluestreak's neck, Jazz added with a whisper, "You keep goin' like that and you're gonna get him to overload."

"Really?" Bluestreak asked, feeling a bit of confidence building up inside of him, his spark swelling with thick emotions. Getting an idea, the young Praxian pushed his fingers in deeper and twisted them, feeling the tips brush against a bundle of wires that he remembered hearing some of the older mechs talking about which were supposedly very sensitive. Sunstreaker had conspiratorially told Bluestreak that once he had gotten Sideswipe to overload simply by massaging that spot with an electro-pen. Bluestreak began to work that spot repeatedly, watching with awe as Prowl's valve began to clench around his finger.

"Primus, _Bluestreak_," Prowl moaned, his optics going off as he surrendered himself to the tide of pleasure that was crashing over him. Jazz watched his mate with a feral gleam in his optics. Being so stern around the rest of the army forced Prowl to repress much of his sensual desires; Jazz had long-since discovered that once Prowl let himself go, the usually-strict mech would quickly allow his lust to consume him, much to Jazz's benefit. And Prowl could put on one pit of a show when he was revved up.

"Give him another, Bluestreak," Jazz suggested, dipping his own fingers into the joints of Bluestreak's doorwings. The gunner shivered, but did as Jazz said, sinking a second finger inside of Prowl and watching as the tactician's valve greedily sucked both digits inside.

Prowl was clawing at the floor, leaving gouges in the surface as his fingers repeatedly scraped over the surface. _If I didn't know any better_, he told his bondmate, his vocalizer incapable of producing anything other than wanton moans at the moment, _I'd say he's done this before_.

_Is that so? _Jazz asked, giving Bluestreak a warm look. The gray mech had admitted to them that he had never been intimate with another 'bot before, but that did not preclude the possibility that he had experimented on _himself_ before. Jazz's processors conjured up the image of Bluestreak sitting alone on his berth, his legs spread and his helm tipped back as he plugged his own fingers into his virgin valve, discovering for himself the different sensor nodes that lined the sensitive walls, lubricants dripping out of him and forming a shiny puddle on the berth beneath him. The soft cries he would have made as he was caught up in the sensations of his first valve-overload.

Before he could even consciously decide to do so, the mental projection of Bluestreak pleasuring himself traveled across their bond to Prowl, who—needless to say—reacted _very_ strongly to the image. "_Bluestreak_!" the SIC suddenly shouted, every servo in his body tensing as overload raced along each and every one of his circuits, his valve clenching almost painfully down on Bluestreak's fingers, trapping them inside as the white-hot pleasure consumed him.

As Prowl continued to shudder in the aftershocks of his powerful overload, Jazz slowly coaxed Bluestreak's fingers out of his mate. The look on Bluestreak's face was eerily similar to the one that Prowl sported whenever his logic circuits shorted out on him; the saboteur wondered if the sight of Prowl overloading had crashed Bluestreak's CPU. "Wake up, Blue," he whispered, pulling the gunner back so that he was fully pressed against Jazz, practically seated in the TIC's lap. "We've still got a long ways ahead of us before we're through."

When Bluestreak didn't respond to Jazz's words, the Porsche decided that he would have to try another tactic. After carefully turning Bluestreak around so that the gray mech was facing him in his lap, Jazz leaned forward, placing his lips over Bluestreak's shock-slackened mouth, teasing the gunner with his glossa until Bluestreak began to respond. Their kiss was clumsy at first—Jazz felt a rush race through his systems at the thought that this could have perhaps been Bluestreak's _first_ kiss—but before too long Bluestreak had started to get the hang of it, weaving his glossa slowly around Jazz's and allowing the special-ops mech to take charge of the kiss.

"Wonder what you taste like," Prowl suddenly said, having sneaked up behind Bluestreak once he had recovered from his overload. Bluestreak moaned into the kiss he was sharing with Jazz; honestly, he had never considered something like _taste_ when he thought about what it would be like to kiss another mech. "The way you're constantly downing energon candies, I am willing to bet that you have a very sweet mouth." The tactician began peppering his own kisses around Bluestreak's jaw, slowly inching his way up until his glossa was pressing against Bluestreak's lips as well, joining in with Jazz's as the bondmates shared Bluestreak's oral cavity.

It was a bit confusing to navigate around two other glossas, but Bluestreak discovered that he absolutely _loved_ kissing. The young Praxian found himself licking at the other mech's glossas, noting that they both tasted like the high grade they had been drinking shortly before they had started … _whatever_ it was that they had done. Were still doing.

Jazz was the first to pull back, followed shortly afterwards by Prowl, who spared one last lick—almost like a goodbye—to Bluestreak's slightly-dented lip components, which were now shiny with oral lubricants. In his preoccupation with Prowl's overload and then with their kisses, Bluestreak had almost completely forgotten about his own arousal; now that both of his superior officers were looking at him with bright, lust-filled optics, Bluestreak was suddenly reminded of the increasing charge that was building up between his legs. He tried squirming in Jazz's lap to relieve some of the pressure, but his movements only made his internals heat up more.

"I think Bluestreak needs an overload, Prowler," Jazz said as Bluestreak continued to writhe on top of him. "But I can't decide whether or not I wanna play with his spike, or see if his port tastes just as sweet as his lips did."

The very _idea_ of having Jazz's glossa, which had felt _so nice_ in his mouth, wriggling within his valve nearly made Bluestreak's processors stall a second time. His hips jerked in response to the verbal stimuli, a moan slipping past his lips. "_Please_," Bluestreak begged, unable to force any more words past his vocalizer.

"There's no reason we can't share," Prowl said, pulling Bluestreak back and settling him against the floor before he joined his bondmate at the intersection of Bluestreak's legs. "It's my turn to have his spike, after all." _Primus, I can hear his spark pulsing, he's so aroused_, Prowl informed his bondmate through their bond, his own spark attempting to synchronize itself with the fast pulses originating from deep within Bluestreak's chassis.

_His field is spikin' so hard, I think the Decepticons might be pickin' up on it_, Jazz replied, feeling his own emission field flux at the thought of Bluestreak's spark. He wondered what color it was; if it was a deep blue like Prowl's, or as red as the plating covering his legs and abdomen. He knew that they wouldn't merge with Bluestreak this time, but perhaps they would be able to one day convince Bluestreak to touch sparks with them, to grant them access to his most intimate circuitry.

Prowl moaned in response to the direction of Jazz's thoughts. The tactician focused his attention on Bluestreak's vibrating spike, needing to redirect his concentration on something besides Bluestreak's spark before he threw caution to the wind and simply threw the gunner down and did something completely illogical (such as bonding with him). Lubricant mixed with traces of transfluid was dripping down the sides of Bluestreak's rod, and Prowl let his glossa slip out in order to taste the sweet, sticky substance.

As Prowl began working Bluestreak's cord with his mouth, Jazz switched his sights down a little further to Bluestreak's valve, which was leaking a considerable amount of lubricants as well. Even from a distance, Jazz could see that the port was extremely tight, probably never having anything larger than a finger pressed into it before. "Ya ever touch yourself down here, Blue?" he asked the gunner as he let his own fingers trace down that same path his optics had already taken, tracing the shuddering rim of Bluestreak's input valve.

"N-no," Bluestreak admitted, his dentals clenched tightly as Prowl took the tip of his cord into his oral cavity, swirling his glossa around the head for a moment before dropping his helm down. "Ratchet told … told me that the f-first time could—_oh Primus! _—hurt, and I w-was scared …" Bluestreak's words tapered off into a static-filled trill as Prowl suddenly took his rod down all the way, swallowing around the spike in a manner that Jazz knew from first-hand experience was _amazing_.

Jazz took advantage of Bluestreak's distraction to slip the tip of one finger into the gunner's port, his own optics nearly offlining as he realized just how _tight_ Bluestreak was. "What Ratch said was right, baby Blue," he said, cupping his other hand around the back of Prowl's helm, guiding his mate's head up and down along the length of Bluestreak's cord. "Assembly-line ports that ain't ever been used before gotta be loosened up first, or ya could really hurt yourself." Jazz let his finger press in a little further, loving the strangled moan that Bluestreak let out as the first line of sensor nodes were activated. "S'why Primus gave us fingers … and glossas," Jazz added, dipping his head down (carefully, so he didn't accidentally knock Prowl on the helm) and letting his glossa slip in alongside his finger.

Bluestreak's valve ached just a little bit as Jazz began to move his glossa and finger in and out slowly, but any discomfort he might have experienced was completely lost in the face of the pleasure he was receiving from his spike, where Prowl had pulled away slightly to trace the various ridges with the tip of his glossa. His legs spread themselves a little wider, and he dimly wondered if the high grade he had consumed earlier was causing him to act like he was a petrorabbit in heat.

Prowl had only ever used his mouth on one other mech before (before Jazz, he _had_ been as reserved in the berth as most mechs still accused him of being), so discovering the differences between Bluestreak's spike and Jazz's was extraordinarily arousing. Perhaps it was due to the lack of experience Bluestreak had with this spike, but Prowl was shocked at how responsive he was to every single swipe of his glossa, to the suction of his intakes. His helm was pressed close to Jazz's, who had removed his finger at some point and was now lazily thrusting his glossa in and out of Bluestreak. Their optics met, and through their bond they were able to reverse their positions, Prowl suddenly able to feel the squeeze of Bluestreak's port while Jazz's taste sensors recognized the unique chemical makeup of Bluestreak's transfluid.

Flashing, bright-red alerts began popping up all across Bluestreak's visual display, warning him _systems overload imminent! _He began keening softly, the volume picking up in intensity as the electrical charge began to diffuse itself from his interfacing components, the sensation linking up with his spark, which pulsed irregularly. Both of his servos were caught in the grips of two different hands as his overload finally hit, knocking his sensors for a loop and causing his main drives to stutter to a halt as thousands of volts shocked every atom of his being.

_We just gave him his first overload_, Prowl said to Jazz, sounding slightly awed and impressed with their achievement. This had been one of the fantasies that they had played out over and over again; introducing Bluestreak to the act of interfacing, holding him through his first overload and guiding him through the aftershocks. Jazz allowed himself to briefly immerse his consciousness in Prowl's overwhelming sense of accomplishment before he pulled back, crawling up Bluestreak's body and pulling the stunned mech against him. Prowl mimicked his bonded, pressing close to Bluestreak's other side and leaning over slightly so that his lips met the Porsche's, sharing the taste of Bluestreak's fluids with the other mech.

Bluestreak's energy stores were significantly depleted due to the intensity of his overload, and various messages appeared, urging him to initiate recharge. It took some serious effort, but the gunner was able to override those signals, forcing his optics to online again. The sight of Prowl and Jazz sharing a kiss over his heaving chassis was _very_ helpful in removing his body's desire for recharge, his internals beginning to charge up for a second time.

Tentatively, Bluestreak reached up with trembling servos, brushing over both Prowl and Jazz's chest plates. His optics widened in shock as he realized that their sparkpulses were completely in sync. Bluestreak knew, of course, that bondmates shared their sparks with one another, that their essences were merged permanently; he wondered what that must feel like, to be connected so closely to another mech.

Bluestreak's actions drew Jazz and Prowl's attention, and with one parting kiss the two mates pulled apart, each of them looking down at the mech between them. "I think he's ready for some more," Jazz remarked, a smirk splitting his faceplates. Prowl hummed in agreement, dropping down so that he could press light kisses against Bluestreak's lips.

"Can I have you?" Prowl asked, following his question with a deep and passionate kiss. Bluestreak noted that Prowl still tasted like high grade, but the flavor was greatly muted and was now mixed with another sweet substance; with a start, he realized that it was his own spill. He didn't have any time to be disgusted or even a little bit shocked over that fact, however, because Prowl was busy plundering his mouth with his glossa and making Bluestreak forget everything except for how _good_ Prowl was at kissing. "Will you let me take you?" Prowl asked again as he pulled out of the kiss, turning questioning optics on Bluestreak and looking so trustworthy and _beautiful_ that Bluestreak could only respond by nodding his helm before dragging Prowl back down for another kiss.

_Wish we could both take him_, Jazz told Prowl, imagining for a moment Bluestreak's port straining around both of their rods, crying out so loudly in pleasure that the whole base would know what they were up to. But there was no way that Bluestreak would be able to comfortably take them both, not during his first real interfacing session. Ratchet would have both of their heads if they even _tried_.

_One orn, possibly_, Prowl responded, moving over Bluestreak so that he was firmly on top of the younger Datsun, in between Bluestreak's spread thighs. Now that they had finally gotten a taste of the gunner, Prowl knew that he would gladly welcome Bluestreak to warm his and Jazz's berth whenever he wanted to in the future. He would probably need to buy a bigger berth. At this thought, Jazz's melodic laughter echoed through their bond.

"Prowl, I want you," Bluestreak said with a gasp as he felt Prowl's rigid spike pressing against the entrance of his port. Prowl shifted his hips a little, teasing Bluestreak with his rod and causing the other Praxian to moan loudly. "_Please_, don't tease me," the gunner begged, the light touches exciting him and making his port ache and clench around nothing.

Jazz, however, was beginning to realize that while both of his partners had had one overload each, he had not even _touched_ his own interfacing equipment yet. He eyed Bluestreak's spike critically, but then dismissed the thought; that would involve some rearranging, and judging by the sounds Bluestreak was making, the young mech wouldn't (or _couldn't_) wait much longer for Prowl. An idea struck Jazz suddenly, and he started to crawl up a little further, not pausing until his hips were level with Bluestreak's head and the gunner was looking at him quizzically.

"Didja like how my glossa felt in your valve, Blue?" Jazz asked, letting the finger he had used inside of Bluestreak earlier dance across the younger mech's lips, spreading his own port lubricants over the malleable metal. Bluestreak nodded in response, letting his lips fall open so that his glossa could lick up the length of Jazz's finger, his optics over-bright with arousal. _He'd look amazing with a cord in his mouth_, Jazz thought, Prowl's agreement echoing back to him through their bond.

"Would you like to try that with me?" the Porsche asked, allowing his finger to slip out of Bluestreak's mouth. Bluestreak nodded, craning his head up to see if he could catch a peak at Jazz's internals, which caused the TIC to laugh. "Don't have to strain yourself, lil 'bot," he said, swinging his hips up and over Bluestreak's helm so that he was essentially straddling the other mech's face. "I'll tell ya what to do."

Prowl had to fight the urge to offline his optics as he watched Bluestreak hesitantly flick his glossa over the rim of his mate's valve, earning a gasp from the saboteur. Despite the fact that he had already had one powerful overload, such a sight was almost enough to topple him into a second release, and the SIC was determined not to overload until he had thoroughly stretched and taken Bluestreak's valve. With extreme effort, Prowl began easing his way into Bluestreak's virgin port, fighting off the urge to simply thrust inside of the wet warmth surrounding his spike.

Bluestreak let out a choked gasp as Prowl began to 'face him, the sensation causing him to momentarily drop his head back from in between Jazz's thighs as the burning pain of his port being stretched for the first time was tempered by the white-hot pleasure he felt as Prowl's rod brushed up against several of the primary sensor nodes. "_Prowl_," he whispered, shivering as he was assaulted by different emotions and sensations.

Jazz could sympathize with Bluestreak; his mate's spike felt _magnificent_ sliding into his valve. However, the young gunner had gotten Jazz riled up with his tentative touches, and Jazz's insides were practically _begging_ for some sort of release. "C'mon, Blue, you got me achin' for ya," Jazz pleaded, reaching down with one hand to guide Bluestreak's helm back up to his port. With one last moan as Prowl finally entered him to the hilt, Bluestreak resumed tonguing Jazz's valve, his glossa flicking from one node to another as he searched for the same sweet spot he had located within Prowl earlier.

_Wish you could feel this, Jazz_, Prowl said to his mate as he slowly eased back out of Bluestreak's frame, setting up a slow rhythm of gentle thrusts to accustom Bluestreak to the feeling. _He's unbelievably tight_.

"Mmmmhm." Bluestreak's pleasured cry was muffled somewhat by Jazz's valve as Prowl's spike grazed across a series of cords _somewhere_ inside of his valve which felt like they were directly wired to his spark, making him tense up and stab his glossa deeper inside of Jazz as an instinctive response. The jab landed right against Jazz's own sweet spot, and the saboteur responded by grinding down against Bluestreak's faceplates, his thumb brushing over the gunner's cheek in a comforting manner.

_Primus, he's got a long glossa_, Jazz said before focusing on the feelings that Prowl was transmitting to him; with his optics powered down, he could almost _swear_ that he was inside of Bluestreak as well, his spike tingling as though it was him and not his mate thrusting into the Datsun. _Don't think I'm gonna last too much longer …_

_Him first_, Prowl said, letting a growl escape his vocalizer as he began moving even faster, his thrusts becoming harder and going deeper as the pliable walls of Bluestreak's port began to soften around his spike. Bluestreak's servos flew out to his sides, adding another set of scratches to the floor. Prowl decided that he wasn't going to polish the floors anytime soon; he wanted to see the evidence of their activities for a long time.

"You're doin' so good, baby," Jazz purred, bracing himself on the floor with one servo as he began to move his hips back and forth in time with the stabbing motion of Bluestreak's glossa within him. "Gonna make me overload right here, really soon … but Prowler really wants to see ya go off again before I get my turn. Think ya can do that for him, Blue? Go ahead and tighten your port 'round his spike, make it real tight for him. Betcha you can feel every single ridge on his rod when ya do that, can't ya?"

Jazz's suggestion was a good one; when Bluestreak clenched around Prowl, it made the tactician's spike grind even harder against the already-inflamed nodes inside of him. But what really got to Bluestreak, what made him shudder and cry out as a second overload claimed him, was the way Jazz was speaking to him, his voice like velvet and sin to Bluestreak's audios.

The charge that Bluestreak's valve released as the younger 'bot overloaded was more than enough to set off Prowl's own climax, his hips slamming deep within Bluestreak one last time as he released his own transfluid deep into Bluestreak's secondary tanks. Although Prowl wanted to do little more than collapse on top of Bluestreak until his intakes had evened themselves out again, he could feel Jazz's frustration like a distant pain over their bond. Snagging one of Bluestreak's hands, Prowl guided their twined digits to his mate's spike, wrapping their servos around Jazz and pumping him in time with Bluestreak's glossa.

"Ungh, that's good," Jazz hissed as his partners began working his spike. From there it only took moments for the TIC to reach his completion, transfluid shooting out from his spike and lubricants pouring out of his valve to make a complete mess of Bluestreak's faceplates. Jazz's spark burned within his chest; he was unused to interfacing without merging sparks, and even though his body was satisfied, there was still a little part of him that was yearning for _more_.

_Not this time_, Prowl reminded his bondmate even as he helped Jazz off of Bluestreak, both of them returning to their earlier position on either side of the gunner. Bluestreak's face was splattered with Jazz's fluids, his lip components hanging wide open as he struggled to pull in enough air to cool down his overheated circuits.

"Looks like we made a mess," Jazz murmured, leaning over to lick off some of the fluids smeared on Bluestreak's cheek. Prowl mirrored his actions, and together the two of them licked every inch of Bluestreak's faceplates, eventually meeting at Bluestreak's mouth. The gunner weakly kissed them back, his glossa tired from its exertions with Jazz and his systems running sluggishly from energon deprivation. Bluestreak knew that he wouldn't be able to stay online for too much longer; the need to recharge was growing every klik, and he was seriously questioning whether or not he would have enough energy to make it back to his own quarters on the other side of the base before he collapsed from exhaustion.

"I need to go," he murmured into the kiss, although he didn't put up a fight when Prowl pressed his glossa inside of the young 'bot's mouth, Jazz content to simply nip and suck on Bluestreak's tender lip components. When Prowl pulled back a moment later—to allow Bluestreak to get up, the sharpshooter presumed—Jazz was quick to take his place. It wasn't for several more kliks that the kiss finally ended, and by that time, Bluestreak's logic chips were informing him that there was a sixty percent chance that he would not remain online long enough to make it back to his quarters.

"You're not goin' anywhere, Bluestreak," Jazz said, kissing Bluestreak's cheek lightly as he watched the gunner's optics flicker. The young mech was obviously fighting off recharge, and while his and Prowl's berth wasn't very large—_yet_—there was plenty of room for the three of them if they pressed close to one another. "Ya can recharge here, with us."

"Y'sure?" Bluestreak slurred, starting to go slack in their arms. Jazz smiled at his bondmate from across Bluestreak's chassis. The ability to properly allocate energy reserves for interfacing was something that Bluestreak would learn with time. The first few times it would be almost impossible for Bluestreak to continue functioning after even one strong overload without requiring some recharge. Jazz and Prowl were more than willing to help the Datsun build up his stamina in the meantime, however.

"Let's get him to the berth room," Prowl whispered as Bluestreak slipped into the initial stages of recharge right there on the floor. Normally, either one of them could have carried Bluestreak by themselves, but they were both rather shaky in the aftermath of one of the most intense interfacing sessions they could remember, so it required both of them to pick Bluestreak up and navigate the short distance to their berth.

"We can set him down in the middle," Jazz said, making sure that Bluestreak's doorwings were spread out flat before the pair laid him down. Recharge beckoned the both of them, but there was something still nagging Jazz in the back of his processors. Something still felt incomplete, and as he turned to look at his bondmate, who was also kneeling next to Bluestreak's recharging form, Jazz knew that Prowl felt the same way.

_Can't we just look at it? _Jazz asked, using his best pleading optic-look on his mate. Prowl looked torn—they were treading a thin line between violating Bluestreak's trust in them and satisfying their own desires—but his resolve crumbled under his mate's insistence.

"Only for a moment," he replied, reaching down to Bluestreak's chest plates to search for the hidden latch that held the armor together. Jazz watched wordlessly, feeling his systems heat up again in anticipation. Whereas some might have considered what they were about to do as improper, both Jazz and Prowl knew that it was something more than just wanting to catch a peek. Whatever they felt for Bluestreak, whether it was a sort of fascination with the younger mech or something more, it was strong enough to justify their actions.

With a soft _hiss_, Prowl finally released Bluestreak's chest plates, which pulled back to reveal the gunner's clear spark chamber and the softly pulsing spark inside of it. _It's beautiful_, Prowl said to Jazz with no small amount of awe in his voice. Bluestreak's spark was bright red, a vibrant color full of life and passion. _He's perfect_.

_He's ours_, Jazz added, leaning down to blow a light gust of air across the chamber's surface. In his recharge, Bluestreak shifted, a sweet moan passing through his lips. In his recharge visions, Bluestreak suddenly became aware of warmth and happiness, and a soft smile formed on his lips as Jazz and Prowl watched him.

Reluctantly, Prowl moved to re-seal Bluestreak's armor, hiding that perfect spark from their optics once more before they both snuggled down next to the gunner to initiate their own recharge cycles. The last conscious thought that the pair shared before succumbing to a much-needed sleep cycle was a reiteration of what Jazz had already said: _He's ours_.

***

**Post-Game Wrap-Up (aka, Author's Note 2):** My personal canon regarding Bluestreak is that before he became an Autobot, he had red optics and that his spark is red. After he joined he changed his optic color (for a number of really angsty reasons that I just haven't written yet), but his spark color is and has always been bright red. Why? Because damn it, it matches his color scheme better! (Also, because of the aforementioned angsty reasons.)


	2. Under Armor Secrets

Title: **Under-Armor Secrets**  
Author: albydarned  
Fandom: Transformers G1  
Rating: NC-17/MA  
Pairing: Prowl/Jazz/Bluestreak

Summary: Prowl and Jazz want to move their relationship with Bluestreak forward, but the gunner keeps pushing them away. It's not that Bluestreak doesn't want them; it's because he's too afraid of what will happen to him if they ever find out …

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**Under-Armor Secrets**

Jazz pushed his cord into Bluestreak slowly, loving the way his partner hissed in pleasure as the Porsche entered him. On the other side of the berth chambers, Prowl was watching the pair of interfacing mechs with an aroused gleam in his optics as he slowly stroked his own spike. Despite the fact that Jazz and Prowl had been interfacing with Bluestreak regularly for nearly a quarter-vorn, the young gunner's port was still almost as tight as it had been the first time Prowl had taken him. It was one of the many things the pair treasured about their excitable lover.

"Feels so good to have you inside of me, Jazz," Bluestreak whispered, braced on his servos and knee-joints as the other mech took him from behind. Bluestreak still had trouble being able to coherently form words when he was lost in the throes of passion, but he had come a long way from being the near-silent interfacing partner he had once been. One of the kinks that Jazz and Prowl still secretly shared was the sounds and words they could pull out of Bluestreak as he writhed with pleasure.

"Mmm, go slower, Jazz," Prowl commanded, wanting to drag things out for as long as possible. It wasn't very often that only two of them were together—Jazz and Prowl hardly ever made love with one another anymore without Bluestreak being present, despite the fact that they had not bonded with him—but Prowl could easily appreciate the show that he was privy to at the moment. Jazz instantly obeyed his mate, slowing his thrusts down so that he was languidly thrusting into Bluestreak, who reacted with a frustrated groan. "The overload will feel much better if you allow it time to build," Prowl informed the other Datsun, but there was a wicked smile on his lip components which undermined his well-intentioned words.

"We have all evening-cycle, baby Blue," Jazz added, kneading his servos on Bluestreak's sensitive doorwings, finding all of the sensitive spots on the plating which he _knew_ drove the younger mech wild. This position was a particular favorite of the saboteur's; while he _loved_ it when Bluestreak could touch him back, he especially liked being able to dominate the gunner. Bluestreak couldn't move from his servos without collapsing face-first into the berth. Jazz smirked as he noticed the trembling in Bluestreak's arms as he strained to hold himself up against the sensations he was currently experiencing.

Bluestreak, on the other hand, was not as thrilled about the slow torture as the mated pair was. He had been online for three cycles without a wink of recharge, and all he really wanted was a nice, comfortable interface before crawling back to his quarters for several joors' worth of shut-down. Despite the fact that he had stayed with his lovers occasionally over the course of their affair, doing so made him uncomfortable and affected the amount of recharge he got, and as tired as he was at the moment, all he really wanted was an overload and some sleep. "Harder, Jazz, _please_," he begged, tentatively thrusting his aft back to force the TIC's rod up against his interior sensor nodes even harder.

_Think I should be nice to him, Prowler? _Jazz asked his bondmate, completely oblivious to the fact that perhaps Bluestreak wasn't as interested that evening as he normally was. Admittedly, it was hard to keep himself under control with the younger Praxian, who, at times, simply _begged_ to be 'faced hard and relentlessly. Jazz had always been terrible at controlling himself; that was why he had Prowl.

Prowl thought about it for a moment, before responding, _maybe a little harder, but just as slow. If he doesn't like it, then he can do something about it. _Briefly, the couple shared a mental image of just what Bluestreak _doing something about it_ would entail: the sharpshooter managing to flip Jazz over, pressing his shoulders down as he rode the other mech's spike as hard and fast as he wanted, taking himself to overload and dragging Jazz along with him. It was a rare that they were able to persuade Bluestreak into a more dominant role in the berth, but whenever they did, the results were … extremely pleasurable.

As Jazz increased the force behind his thrusts, Bluestreak felt a vague brush of annoyance move through him just as the pleasure forced another wanton moan out of his vocalizer. He could always tell when Jazz and Prowl were communicating to one another over the bond, and while most of the time it didn't bother him, sometimes it left him feeling incredibly frustrated. What if they were talking about him? Couldn't they understand that he _wasn't_ a part of their bond, and might feel like a third-wheel, like an unnecessary addition to their relationship? The gray mech would never say any of this out loud, of course, and normally it didn't bother him. He loved Jazz and Prowl, he really did, but sometimes he wondered …

"I'm not sure that I, t-that I can hold myself up much, loo-_oh_-nger," Bluestreak managed to grind out, his arms suddenly feeling very weak. The lack of recharge and energy was catching up to him quickly, and although his systems were too charged up at the moment for him to drop into involuntary stasis, if he wasn't careful the overload would, and he really wanted to recharge in his own berth that evening. With a soft moan, the gunner lowered himself down onto his elbows, the change in position allowing Jazz to move even deeper in his port, causing both of the mechs to let out pleasured groans.

From his vantage point further away from the berth, Prowl was able to see a strange mixture of expressions cross Bluestreak's faceplates; there was the pleasure, of course, but alongside of it was a bit of exhaustion and a tightening of his lip components which Prowl wasn't sure about. It almost looked as it Bluestreak were upset about something, which considering the fact that Jazz was practically 'facing him into the berth seemed completely out-of-place. _Bluestreak may be more tired that we initially believed_, Prowl told Jazz, whose helm jerked up suddenly in concern as he received the message. _I think a change in position may be in order._

_Damn, an' just as I was gettin' good and heated up too_, Jazz griped, but most of it was for show. The sudden spike of concern emanating from Prowl's end of the bond had caught his own systems, and Jazz worried that maybe they had been a little too insistent with Bluestreak that evening. Both officers knew that the gunner had just come off of a long patrol with Hound and Cliffjumper, but they had hoped that they could use Bluestreak's exhaustion to convince him to stay in their quarters with them that night; it was so rare that Bluestreak would stay with them, and both Jazz and Prowl loved nothing more than curling around their lover in recharge.

"Hold on, Blue," Jazz said, wincing as he pulled his straining rod out of Bluestreak, strings of lubricant still connecting the two together. "Let's get you turned around. Wouldn't want ya to fall into recharge and smack your face 'gainst the berth, now would we?" Jazz's hands settled on the gunner's hips, helping Bluestreak turn around so that he was laying flat on his back on the berth.

Before he could stop himself, Bluestreak felt another slew of bitter emotions race through him. _If you knew how tired I was, why did you insist on interfacing with me in the first place? _However, the sharpshooter knew that he wasn't being entirely fair to his lovers in that regard; he _could_ have turned them down, and honestly, he _had_ been craving an interface. But now that he had allowed himself to have even _one_ negative thought, it seemed as though every problem he had felt building in the back of his CPU was bursting forth, making it increasingly hard for him to focus on the pleasure his body was feeling.

Prowl went back to stroking his spike as Jazz entered Bluestreak once more, but his arousal had dampened. Oh, Bluestreak was moaning and squirming as delightfully as always, all right, but there seemed something _off_ about it that particular evening cycle. For not the first time, Prowl wished that he were able to read Bluestreak's thoughts and emotions as easily as Jazz; it was becoming obvious that something was troubling their partner, but there was no way they'd be able to know _what_ that was exactly unless Bluestreak let them in on it. And despite the gray mech's reputation for being a non-stop talker, he was very good at keeping a secret.

Jazz resumed his thrusting, although he made sure to pick up the pace, hoping to tease Bluestreak back into the spirit of things and get them both closer to overload. _Something wrong, love? _Jazz asked Prowl over their bond, feeling faint echoes of his mate's diminishing arousal. And was it just him, or were some of Bluestreak's moans sounding … fake? Frowning, Jazz reached down, relieved to find Bluestreak's spike still fully pressurized between their two bodies. The sound that the gunner released as the saboteur began stroking him in time with his thrusts was genuine, at least.

There they were, being quiet again, Bluestreak noted grimly. If his systems weren't already so close to overload, he'd have probably asked to leave; being intimate was quickly becoming the last thing that Bluestreak wanted at the moment. "Getting close, Jazz," he whispered, trying to sound encouraging, hoping that the TIC would start to move faster and bring him to overload even quicker. Out of the corner of his vision, Bluestreak noticed that Prowl had stopped touching himself altogether, that he had actually retracted his spike and had his panel closed. _Oh slag, they know that something's wrong_, he thought worriedly. Bluestreak was in no mood to _talk_ his problems out with the pair, that was for certain.

Prowl had given up, and Jazz was about two kliks from stopping as well when he felt the tell-tale shudders start in the depths of Bluestreak's valve. For the first time he could ever remember, Jazz was _thankful_ that he would soon be finished; it was challenging to perform for a mech who was obviously not interested. Which begged the obvious question, what was _wrong_ with Bluestreak? Both Jazz and Prowl had been frustrated lately that their relationship with the gunner had seemingly stalled, but they had never let their concerns affect their interfacing habits before.

Prowl's lip components were set in a firm line, his optics concerned even as he watched Bluestreak overload, his charged port triggering a sympathetic release out of Jazz as well. A shiver ran through the tactician as his mate reached his peak, but it was not enough to reawaken his own interfacing drive. Worry pressed against his spark, the emotion shared completely by Jazz: what was _wrong_ with Bluestreak? Why had things suddenly changed? The gray 'bot had seemed _fine_ when they started out …

"Y'okay, Blue?" Jazz asked as he eased himself out of Bluestreak. The gunner's response wasn't completely audible, and he quickly shut his panel, not even bothering to wait for Jazz to hand him a rag so that he could wipe the lubricants off of his plating. Jazz felt his optic ridge narrowing; there was no need to be _rude_, and although it was plain to see that Bluestreak wanted to get out, they were all adult mechs, and to Jazz that meant that they could all settle things by talking it out. "What just happened there? You're startin' to act like the last thing you wanna do is be near me'n'Prowl right now. Kinda hurtin' our feelings, Blue."

Prowl sighed; that was _not_ the most subtle way to go about things. Judging by the mixed look of shock and hurt that instantly appeared on Bluestreak's faceplates, the other Praxian had obviously not intended for Prowl or Jazz to catch on to the fact that he'd been upset. _That_ only made Prowl worry more; what if Bluestreak _had_ been upset for awhile, and neither of them had caught on until the young mech simply couldn't hold it in anymore? Moving from his chair over to the berth, Prowl settled in next to Bluestreak's side, forcibly stopping himself from resting a servo on the fluttering, agitated doorwings just within his reach. "If there's a problem, Bluestreak, we will do anything to fix it. We do not like to see you unhappy, and it's obvious that something is wrong."

"It's nothing, really, I'm just tired and I thought that I wanted to interface with you tonight but once we got started I realized just how tired I was. So there's nothing to worry about and nothing to talk about, I think I'm just going to head out and go back to my quarters so I can get some shut-down," Bluestreak responded, not bothering to intake _once_ as he spoke. But before the gunner could start making his way from the berth, he felt two sets of servos pressing him down.

"Why don't ya stay here with us tonight, Blue?" Jazz asked, his tone falsely light and airy, contrasting immensely with the simultaneous message he projected across the bond to Prowl. _Don't know what else you an' I can do to make this 'bot see that we want him with us always. Maybe it's not us … could be that he just doesn't really want us like that. _

Let's not make any quick judgments, Prowl cautioned his mate, even as he felt a similar pang of resignation touch his own spark. _Bluestreak needs to tell us how he feels. We can't simply assume to know what's going through his processors_. Out-loud, the tactician murmured to his younger lover, "We would love for you to stay with us this evening-cycle, even if we're all recharging. We've missed being able to hold you while you rest."

Normally, Bluestreak would have been flattered—and might have even caved into staying—by Prowl's words, but in the heat of the moment, all the gunner could hear was an accusation. "Maybe I _don't_ want to stay the night with you," he replied, his normally-cheery voice replaced by a harder tone, one which reverberated deep down inside of Bluestreak, awakening a side of his core programming that he had always struggled to keep repressed. "At least if I'm not here, the two of you don't have to rely on that bond of yours to talk about me so I can't here it."

Both Prowl and Jazz were shocked, both by the words Bluestreak was saying, but also the manner in which the Datsun was saying them. Prowl was the first to recover, his expression turning unspeakably sad as he realized that whatever Bluestreak was upset about, it had been bothering him for a long time. "Bluestreak, Jazz and I were unaware that our bond bothered you so much. But there are certain things—feelings, thoughts, emotions—that we simply can't hide from one another. We've never intended to make you feel excluded or uncomfortable."

Bluestreak growled with frustration; Prowl just didn't _get it_. And Bluestreak could never fully explain what really upset him to much, because if he did, the _least_ of his problems would be the end of the only relationship he'd ever had. "I know how a bond works, Prowl. I may not be as old or as experienced as you two, but I'm not some sparkling with a defective memory log either."

"Hey, now, Prowler's just tryin' to understand what's got your spark suddenly set to sub-zero," Jazz cut in, trying—unsuccessfully—to keep his mounting anger from his voice. However, the saboteur had unknowingly just said the very wrong thing, and if Bluestreak's optics hadn't been modified to only appear in shades of blue, the glower he aimed at the TIC would have been redder than magma.

"I told you, I'm just tired and all I want is for the both of you to let me up so that I can go back to my own quarters and get some recharge," Bluestreak ground out, ignoring the rising need to _hit something_ as well as the painful squeeze he felt in his spark. Even though he couldn't stop himself from saying such horrible things to his lovers, Bluestreak realized that this argument might possibly be the end of what he had considered to be the best thing that had ever happened to him. And _that_ thought only made him even angrier.

Prowl sighed. Bluestreak was angry for some reason and Jazz was becoming increasingly irritable; this was _definitely_ not how Prowl had envisioned spending his off-cycle. "Bluestreak," he said, using the most patient tone he could come up with given the situation, "we all know that there's more to this than you just being tired. I don't believe we've been as open about this as we ought to have been, but Jazz and I have been hoping to move this relationship forward for awhile now." The tactician paused, unsure if he should continue, but the slight unthawing of Bluestreak's optics gave him the courage he needed to keep speaking. "Honestly, I would love nothing more right now than to be able to sense you and understand what you're feeling just like I'm able to with Jazz."

It was as if time stopped for Bluestreak. In that very moment, Prowl confirmed both the gunner's greatest desire and biggest fear—that the mated pair wanted him to join their bond or, at the very least, wanted to merge sparks with him. "I …" Bluestreak started, struggling to find words, his vocalizer shocked into silence. "I can't …"

"You _won't_," Jazz interrupted, glaring openly now as he felt Prowl's hurt over Bluestreak's rejection of his—_their_—suit rejected. "You _won't_ let this go any further than it has right now, and I think that it's time we get this all straightened out. Are we jus' frag buddies to you, Bluestreak? 'Cause me an' Prowl aren't really into just messin' around."

Bluestreak felt his spark trying to stutter to a halt in his chassis. _Oh Primus no_, he thought, knowing that Jazz had it all wrong; they were _so_ important to him, so much so that he couldn't even_ begin_ to describe it, but he couldn't bond with them. Couldn't even show them his spark … and he could never explain _why_. The best Bluestreak could do was to shake his head, his mouth opening and closing as the words that would both save and damn him froze on the tips of his lip components, fighting to be released.

Prowl sighed; Jazz's temper was notoriously difficult to trigger, but once a mech had, there were few things in the universe which could contain his rage. Even as he sent a placating nudge toward his bondmate through their connection, Prowl attempted to salvage things with Bluestreak, who looked surprisingly shell-shocked—perhaps they _had_ read the situation wrong? "We are not giving you an ultimatum, Bluestreak. We simply want to know where it is you want this relationship to go, because it's become obvious tonight that something about our arrangement has upset you."

"I'm s-sorry," Bluestreak managed to stutter, his servos shaking so hard they were rattling in his wrist joints. The walls of Prowl and Jazz's chambers suddenly felt as though they were closing in on Bluestreak, his in-vents coming in quick and short, trying to cool down his systems to no avail. The gray mech realized that he couldn't stay in that room any longer, he had to _get out_ before he broke down and told them everything.

As Bluestreak suddenly pivoted, obviously heading for the door, Jazz yelled, "If you walk out that door you might as well count on never bein' let back in!" But by the time the words left the saboteur's mouth, the sniper was already gone, the only evidence that he had even noticed the TIC's threat being the strangled sob the mated pair heard as he exited their quarters.

* * *

Bluestreak finally managed to force himself to stop running once he was several corridors away from Jazz and Prowl's quarters. Even though his intakes were heaving and his gyros were rotating quickly from the sudden strain of running at top speeds for several kliks, Bluestreak strained his audios for the sound of other footfalls or tires squealing, signs that the bondmates had decided to chase him down. When he heard nothing but the sound of his own systems, Bluestreak let of a sigh of relief.

"What do I do?" he asked no one in particular, staring down at the ground as his CPU continuously threw different data at him. On the one servo, Bluestreak was aware that what he had just done was incredibly unfair to Jazz and Prowl, who honestly loved him and—it seemed—wanted him for more than just casual interfacing. Who possibly even wanted a bond from him. On the other servo, however, Bluestreak was afraid that he wasn't worthy of his officer's attentions, and that once they saw his spark, they would make him leave, or worse, demand that he be deactivated.

The sound of two sets of peds echoing along the long hallways interrupted Bluestreak's thoughts, and for a moment the gunner believed that Jazz and Prowl _had_ come to find him. There was no denying the pleasant surge that built up in his spark at that idea even if it also filled him with horror, but when he looked up, it was Sunstreaker and Sideswipe who met his optics, not Prowl and Jazz.

"Well, look at what we have here," Sideswipe said to his twin, his tone light. However, Bluestreak knew the Lamborghini well enough to know that despite his smile, Sideswipe was a dangerous mech. Sunstreaker was too, and both of them had been trying to coax Bluestreak into their berth for _vorns_, ever since he had been a youngling. "A young Praxian, without his constant shadows lurking anywhere nearby."

"Did they have a fight, I wonder," Sunstreaker added, one servo resting on his hip as he used the other to reach forward, lightly brushing against Bluestreak's doorwing. Although the gunner quickly moved away from the unwelcome touch, his plating was still sensitive in post-overload, and he couldn't stop himself from shivering slightly in response. A scowl appeared on Bluestreak's normally-smiling lips; if there was one thing he _did not_ need to deal with right now, it was the twins.

"That's none of your business," he growled, widening his stance into a more defensive one, even though he knew he had no chance against even one of the twins, let alone both of them at once. But still, he knew how Sunstreaker and Sideswipe worked … they were not the type of mechs that would easily see reason. They answered to violence and brute force instead, and a part of Bluestreak—the part of him that he hated, the part that kept him from having what he _really_ wanted—understood completely.

Sideswipe lost the smile, his optics burning dangerously into Bluestreak's own. "When are you going to realize that you don't belong with _them_,"—the amount of venom he was able to inject into that single word left no doubt as to the red mech's opinion of his Second- and Third-in-Command—"and that you're _ours_?"

"Hopefully it's before they realize that you just don't fit in with them, or any of the other Autobots," Sunstreaker said, this time letting his servo rest on Bluestreak's doorwing in an obvious display of dominance. Bluestreak, who was emotionally and physically exhausted, didn't have the energy to fight off the front liner, and allowed the touch, albeit begrudgingly. "You know that we're the only other mechs who understand, Bluestreak."

Bluestreak shook his head; he didn't need the twins, of all mechs, to remind him of his own shortcomings. All he had to do was open his chest armor to do that. "Maybe I don't want to _be_ like you," he said, narrowing his optics and trying to look stronger than he felt. "Maybe I _want_ to be like them, have you ever stopped to consider that? When are you two going to realize that you're _not_ Decepticons, you're _Autobots_ and you're no different than any of the mechs who fight for this army?"

However, Sideswipe was not fooled by Bluestreak's show of bravado, easily knocking his brother's hand out of the way so that he could slam the gunner's frame up against a wall so hard that the paneling shook at the impact. "We're _not_ like them, and neither are you! All of the 'bots know that the only reason Sunny and I joined with the Autobots is because we can't stand that fragger Megatron. And we,"—here Sideswipe paused, motioning first to his twin and then to Bluestreak to indicate that this was knowledge only the three of them shared—"know that the only reason you're not a 'con is because your creator was a drunk who forgot to vacate Praxis and head for Vos before the attack hit."

Bluestreak winced at the words as though they were a physical blow. In many ways, they had hurt him far worse than any punches Sideswipe might have dealt him. It was the secret that Bluestreak had managed to keep from all of the other Autobots—including his lovers—ever since he was a youngling, and it was the reason why he could never bond with Jazz and Prowl. The gray mech knew that if either of them found out, they would never speak to him again. They would hate him.

Bluestreak's carrier had been a Praxian mech who had offlined shortly after Bluestreak had first been activated. Most of Bluestreak's system requirements and frame coding came from his carrier, much to the disgust of his creator, a Seeker from Vos who had settled in Praxus to find work. The only similarities that Bluestreak had shared with his creator were his blood-red optics and the similarly-colored spark in his chassis. The optics had been a quick fix; after the destruction of Praxus, it had been easy to pretend that his optics were damaged in order to convince the young Autobot medic who had treated him to replace them with blue lenses. But Bluestreak's spark had been, and always would be, red, an obvious sign pointing to his true heritage.

Sunstreaker's arms draped around his twin's shoulders as the golden twin chuckled darkly. "Looks like you hit a sore cog," he said with a smirk, planting a kiss on his brother's audio. "The chatterbox is speechless."

Bluestreak felt his internals heating up in embarrassment. He didn't want either of the Lamborghinis to know how much their taunts had really affected him. "I'm an Autobot and it doesn't matter who my creators were that doesn't change the fact that I'm loyal to Optimus Prime and I won't stop fighting until every last Decepticon has been either deactivated or captured and we can return to Cybertron and live at peace again."

This time, both twins laughed, and Bluestreak swore to himself that if he had a little more energy, he would be doing a whole lot more than just _telling_ them to stop. Even if it got his aft handed to him, he'd show the twins that he wasn't a mech they could mess around with and not face any consequences. "Why fight your nature, Bluestreak?" Sideswipe asked, apparently forgetting his earlier anger as he leaned in to suck lightly on the Praxian's sensitive chevron. Despite himself, Bluestreak moaned lightly at the sensation.

While his brother busied himself, Sunstreaker continued the conversation. "We're not trying to tell you not to be an Autobot. We're all Autobots, after all." With a dangerous smile, Sunstreaker let a servo drift across Bluestreak's chassis, his hand settling over the gunner's pounding spark. "But with us, you won't need to hide who you _really_ are. It's why you won't work out with Jazz and Prowl; they won't understand the _violence_ within you the way that Sides and I will."

"Mmmhmm," Sideswipe agreed, licking and sucking his way down Bluestreak's faceplates until his lips were against Bluestreak's, coaxing the younger mech's oral cavity open so that they could share a circuit-melting kiss. For one long, confusing moment, as Sideswipe thrust his glossa into the Datsun's mouth greedily but with obvious skill, Bluestreak _considered_ the twin's proposition. Pictured what it would be like to interface with them, to bond with them and to share himself with them in every way imaginable.

The reason why the front-liners had always expressed such an interest in Bluestreak was due to their shared backgrounds. The mech who had built Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had been a gladiator model from Kaon, and it was rumored that their creator had actually been offlined by Megatron himself during an arena match. What _wasn't_ known to anybot other than Bluestreak (and that was only because the twins had told him after they had figured _his_ secret out), was that their creator had been more than just a gladiator; he'd been a secret conspirator who'd been planning a rebellion right around the same time that Megatron came into power. Due to the nature of their upbringing and the city in which they were raised, the twins shared Bluestreak's spark coloration, but unlike the younger mech, they weren't ashamed of their more violent tendencies.

Sideswipe growled into their kiss, his red body pressing Bluestreak's into the wall with enough force to dent the orange plating. A stray thought passed through the gunner's CPU—_Jazz and Prowl would never hold me like this_—and with a shudder of horrid realization, Bluestreak gasped and used all of his remaining strength to shove the twins away from him.

"I said _no_," Bluestreak hissed, shivering with barely-restrained rage. Even _if_ he didn't deserve Jazz and Prowl, he didn't really want the twins, who only seemed to want him as a conquest, their berth-trophy and reluctant mate. He'd spend the rest of his extremely long life alone before he bound himself to the likes of them.

Sunstreaker shifted, obviously preparing to close back in on Bluestreak, but a servo on his shoulder stopped him. Sideswipe grinned at his twin, licking his slightly-dented lip components obscenely. "Don't worry, bro," the red Lamborghini said as he directed a smoldering gaze towards Bluestreak. "Little Blue might think that he has all he needs, but the klik Jazz and Prowl leave him for good, he'll be _begging_ us for a taste of our components."

Sunstreaker glared, obviously feeling a little jealous that he hadn't been able to press a kiss on the sharpshooter when his brother had gotten to, but the other front liner backed off. Turning his optics towards Bluestreak as well, he ground through clenched dentals, "I'd be careful about whoring yourself out to any old mech, Bluestreak. You wouldn't want to have your chest plates slip and ruin it for everyone … they'd have you for _parts_ before you could even say a word."

Without another word, Sunstreaker grabbed Sideswipe and the pair sauntered down the halls of the _Ark_, exuding an air of satisfaction and victory which only served to make Bluestreak feel even more weak and despicable. With tears running down his cheekplates, the young mech slid down the wall to the ground, hugging his knees close to himself as his thoughts ran away from him. _What if they are what I deserve? _he asked himself, trying—and failing—to imagine himself bonded to the homicidal twins.

_Would I have been a Decepticon if my creator had gotten us out of Praxus before the raid? _Bluestreak had always believed that, no matter what, he would have ended up as an Autobot, or at the very least a Neutral. But, with the Lamborghinis' words echoing through his processors, it didn't seem like too much of a stretch of the imagination to picture himself exactly as he had been right before his hometown was leveled—blood-red optics and a frown on his faceplates, a prime target for Megatron's recruiters. _Would I have wanted to kill Jazz and Prowl, then? If I were a Decepticon? _

As more and more tears began to drip down Bluestreak's face and onto the floor, the gunner realized that he wanted nothing more than to be surrounded and comforted by the mechs he trusted (and loved) the most; he wanted Jazz to sing something soft and reassuring to him as Prowl held him and promised him that they would both take care of him. He wanted the security and warmth they offered him, even though he knew that he could never entirely accept it. The twins were right; one look at his spark and they'd know the truth, and he couldn't bear it for them to turn him away or to look at him with disgust in their optics. It would kill him.

The combined stress of his encounter with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, his argument with Jazz and Prowl, and his extra-long duty cycle finally caught up with Bluestreak, and without his conscious knowledge, the sharpshooter slumped over to the side, his optics finally dimming as his recharge sequences automatically initiated. Despite the fact that Bluestreak was asleep, tears of coolant continued to run down his face as his body curled up into a small, protective ball.

* * *

Despite being tired, Jazz and Prowl were unable to return to their berth after Bluestreak fled their quarters. Instead, the pair moved to their couch after Prowl had brought out several cubes of high grade. They had sat their together in silence, each of them mulling over what had just occurred with Bluestreak. More than once, Prowl caught himself staring at the spot on the floor which still bore the scratches and gouges that had been left behind the first time he and Jazz had interfaced with Bluestreak.

The uncomfortable silence was broken several breems later by Ironhide, who commed both of them, his tone both angry and concerned: _What the_ pit _happened? _

Jazz's optics went wide with alarm behind his visor as he looked to his bondmate; where had _that_ come from? Prowl's immediate thought was that maybe Bluestreak had gone to Ironhide with his problems—after all, the weapons specialist was his commanding officer, and the two had shared a mentor/student relationship ever since Bluestreak became an Autobot. After checking to make sure that Ironhide hadn't sent the message over a general-broadcast frequency, Prowl responded tentatively, "We need a few more details in order to answer your question, Ironhide. What's going on?"

_Oh, Ah'll tell yah what's goin' on_, Ironhide responded testily, obviously unimpressed by Prowl's question. _What's goin' on is that Ah jes found Bluestreak, collapsed an' rechargin' in C-corridor. Looks like he's been cryin' the whole time too. If yah two hurt him, Ah swear that they won't even find alla yer lousy parts …_

Even before Ironhide could continue berating them, Jazz had already gotten up from the couch and had started heading for the door to their quarters, Prowl on his heels as they made their way towards C-corridor. Guilt rippled almost-tangibly across their bond, with Jazz feeling like ten kinds of an idiot. _S'probably my fault, Prowl … I lost my temper with him an' now he'll prolly want nothin' to do with us anymore …_

"We're on our way," Prowl replied to Ironhide, torn between wanting to stop and console his bondmate and wanting to run and see what was wrong with their lover. Focusing on their bond, Prowl did his best to force warm and comforting emotions to Jazz, reassuring him that it was not all his fault. _We all need some time and some recharge before we jump to any conclusion_s, he responded logically, only to be cut off by his mate, who looked more upset than Prowl could ever remember seeing him.

_I told him that if he left that it was over, Prowl! An' he did! He's gonna hate me, I know he is …_ What really startled Prowl was how Jazz's usual high levels of confidence were completely shattered. He had never heard his mate sound so unsure of himself before; the SIC had been aware that Bluestreak had become an important 'bot in his life, but he had never realized the extent to which his mate (and himself) had come to rely on the stabilizing presence of the gunner.

As they turned the corner into C-corridor, they were met by Ironhide's stern glare; however, neither 'bot noticed, as both of their gazes were drawn towards Bluestreak, who was lying unconscious in Ironhide's arms. The old mech had been right—Bluestreak was crying, and it looked as though he'd been doing so for awhile (perhaps, Jazz realized with another wave of guilt, ever since he had left their quarters). Oddly enough, Bluestreak's lip components looked dented and bruised, and there were odd scratches on his arms and shoulders, as if someone had held him. Prowl could not help but to notice how there were scuff marks on the walls directly behind where Ironhide was sitting … it looked as though Bluestreak might have ran into the wall, or had been held up against it by another 'bot.

"Ah swear, if yah two don't start givin' me a _damn_ good explanation for this, Ah'll send the both of yeh to Ratchet in so many parts he won't even have enough to turn either of yeh into toasters!" Ironhide threatened. The red mech who had been responsible for getting Prowl and Jazz with Bluestreak in the first place had also began noticing that there were problems developing amongst the trio; although Bluestreak would never talk to him about it, it wasn't hard to notice that more recharge cycles than not the gunner would find his way back to his own quarters instead of staying with his lovers. Ironhide _knew_ that Bluestreak was in love with his commanders, so it made no sense to him that the young mech would go out of his way to recharge alone. So, obviously, he figured that it had to be Jazz and Prowl who were keeping Bluestreak at a distance.

Before Prowl could even get a word in, Jazz moved forward, kneeling down next to Ironhide and reaching one servo out towards Bluestreak, although he never went so far as to touch the sleeping mech. "S'my fault, 'Hide. We had an argument an' I said some things that I shouldn't have. Sent Bluestreak runnin' … he musta been tryin' to get back to his quarters when he collapsed."

Ironhide didn't look convinced. "Despite what yeh both think, Blue ain't a younlin' anymore. I don't think that if he woulda got himself so worked up over a few words to knock himself inta stasis. Pit, Ah ain't even seen him cry once, 'cept for the day that we found him." The weapon's specialist pulled Bluestreak into his arms a little further, tugging him away from Jazz's reach. "Ah've been quiet 'bout this for a long time now, since Ah figured it weren't none of my business. But Ah'm gettin' tired of watchin' the pair of yah treat Bluestreak like an interfacin' toy 'stead of a mech."

"What?" Prowl asked, completely shocked. "How did you reach _that_ conclusion?" Before that evening cycle, Prowl hadn't even been aware that there _had_ been problems between the three of them; now, out of nowhere, Ironhide comes out and accuses them both of treating Bluestreak like a _thing_? Prowl would have fallen to the floor and bonded with the gray mech then and there if he had thought such an act would have been welcome! "We _love_ Bluestreak, we've even offered to let him join our bond. How, in any dimension, is _that_ not treating him like a mech?"

To his credit, Ironhide looked a little chagrined at Prowl's outburst (largely due to the fact that he was so unused to seeing Prowl be emotional over anything), but he didn't back off or relinquish his hold over Bluestreak at all. "All the 'bot wants is to be bonded to the both of yeh … ya'll can't tell me that he's turned yeh down if it was offered to 'im."

"He did," Jazz interrupted, having sat back on his knees, his visored optics never leaving Bluestreak. "'Course, we never really told 'im the _proper_ way or anythin', but right before he ran out, Prowl told him that we wanted to bond to him."

"We have been trying further our relationship with him for awhile now," Prowl added, stepping closer as well and joining the rest of the 'bots on the floor surrounding Bluestreak. "But every time we suggest that he stay with us for his recharge cycle, he acts as if he doesn't want to. If it weren't for his obvious affection for us, I would suspect that he doesn't actually want to be with us." _Maybe he doesn't_, Prowl added as an afterthought, struggling to keep such a dismal thought to himself; Jazz certainly didn't need to hear such a thing.

Ironhide shook his head. Something wasn't right … "Well, Ah'm not goin' ta argue yeh there, Prowl. I trust yeh enough to believe what yeh jus' said. But Bluestreak loves the both of yah, that much Ah know fer sure." Then, in a move that surprised both Jazz and Prowl, Ironhide scooped up the smaller 'bot in his arms and handed him to the stunned Porsche, waiting until Jazz's arms shifted so that he could take the Praxian into his arms. "He's stubborn, Blue is. Bet yer both gonna have to sit on 'im to make 'im tell you what's botherin' him. Best to do it now 'fore the problem festers."

"You want us to take him?" Prowl asked, shocked. He couldn't deny, however, that his spark warmed just a bit when Ironhide told them that Bluestreak loved them. Even though they had said it a few times during the height of their interfacing, neither of them had ever heard or told Bluestreak that they loved him just to say the words. It was an emotion that Jazz and Prowl felt, and one that, Prowl realized, they would need to share with the younger mech in order to reassure him that they _did_ care about him.

Ironhide nodded. "Ah think he'll appreciate wakin' up in a berth instead of on the floor," he said, although he conveniently neglected to mention that Bluestreak might prefer to wake up in his _own_ berth instead of his lovers'. As far as the older 'bot was concerned, if Bluestreak hadn't confessed to Jazz and Prowl that they were _it_ for him, then maybe he'd deserved whatever it was that Jazz had said to him. Either way, it was late and he was tired, and Ironhide trusted the other officers to take care of the mechling he still thought of occasionally as his own creation.

"Thanks, 'Hide," Jazz said, his voice barely above a whisper. His processors were whirling with all kinds of information and emotions—regret, still, for upsetting Bluestreak and letting his temper get away from him; confusion and trepidation from Prowl, who hated it when he was unsure of what was going on; and finally, the beginnings of hope that they could get over this, that it was just a small bump in the road and that, maybe, they could start repairing _whatever_ was wrong between them soon. "We'll be gettin' him back to our quarters then, huh, Prowl?"

The saboteur was smiling, and Prowl could sense from the bond that his lover's mood was finally—_finally! _—starting to improve. Good. It always worried him when Jazz was upset for more than a few breems; it was so _strange_ for the normally-upbeat mech to be down in the dumps for any period of time (although on this occasion his funk was definitely understandable).

"Don't mention it, mech," Ironhide responded, moving to stand up and grunting as his old joints groaned at the effort. "Jus' promise me that ya'll will get this mess sorted out. If he's still cryin' the next time Ah see the pair of yah, Ah'll give the twins the pass-codes to yer quarters an' let let em have access to everythin' Wheeljack's got in his lab 'fore they go in." Prowl grimaced; he didn't even _want_ to think about the sort of damage the Lamborghinis could wreak in their rooms. Ever since he and Jazz had began their relationship with Bluestreak, their attitudes had soured even more, leading Prowl to conclude that the twins had probably developed a crush on the gray gunner somewhere along the line.

"Best get goin' before he wakes up, yeah?" Jazz asked, struggling to stand with Bluestreak still in his arms. The gray Praxian was smaller than Prowl, but still a bit taller and heavier than Jazz, so the tactician went to help his mate stand while still holding onto their youngest lover. Ironhide watched the proceedings with a poorly-concealed smirk on his face; the way he had it figured, it wouldn't take long after the younglings got their problems figured out before he received an invitation to a bonding ceremony. _Gonna hafta get mah armor polished, then_, he thought wryly as he said his goodbyes to the mates before heading back toward his own quarters.

* * *

Bluestreak was out cold. Jazz had to fight back the poorly-timed smirk that wanted to sprawl across his faceplates as he and Prowl carried Bluestreak's dead weight between them as they made their way back towards their quarters. He didn't think he'd ever seen a mech recharging so deeply before. _Guess he wasn't jokin' 'bout bein' tired, was he Prowl? _

Prowl frowned. His processor was still focused on the strange marks and dents on Bluestreak's shoulders and arms that he was certain hadn't been there before he left their room. And his lips _definitely_ hadn't been bruised; they'd barely had time to kiss before they'd decided to play, and then they'd been arguing. So how had he managed to damage himself?

Before he could share his concerns with his bondmate, or even respond to his initial question, the pair watched as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe turned the corner, heading in their direction. The mates sighed; they weren't in the mood to deal with the twins' antics in the first place, but the fact that they had Bluestreak's body sagging lifelessly between them would definitely not escape the front-liners' notice. _Just when we thought things were looking up_, Prowl thought with some exasperation as he pulled on his best "Second-in-Command" face and looked sternly at the oncoming troublemakers.

Sideswipe smirked as he elbowed his twin in the side, pointing at Bluestreak's prone form and laughing derisively. "What do you know, Sunny? It's our good friend Bluestreak. Looks like he must've worn himself out, doesn't it?"

Sunstreaker laughed. "It most definitely does, Sides. But," the Lamborghini paused, feigning surprise as he continued, "what is this? His lovers are carrying him _back_ to their quarters? My my my," he said, chuckling softly, "I wonder if someone's been a naughty 'bot tonight and got himself caught?"

Jazz laughed as Prowl's expression morphed into a glare; the TIC was better at dealing with the twins than his mate, and the sooner they managed to get past the pair the sooner they could get Bluestreak settled into their berth. "Sure is late for the both of ya to be out wanderin' around … I sure hope ya aren't plannin' on doing somethin' tonight that's going to make Prowl's logic circuits lock up again tomorrow. Always leaves me high and dry for _cycles_ whenever that happens." Prowl groaned, fervently asking his bondmate _why did you decide to share_ that _piece of information with the twins? _

"Well," Sideswipe said with a drawl, his optics stuck on Bluestreak in a way that made Prowl feel distinctly uncomfortable, "We were hoping to do something to some_one_ … and it probably would have locked up Prowl for a good long while if we did but …" The front liner trailed off, and with a sickening lurch in his fuel tanks Prowl finally realized what the pointed look at Bluestreak actually meant in conjunction with the red mech's words, "Looks like someone else got to him first."

_Jazz, we need to get Bluestreak out of here_, Prowl said to his mate, having put two and two together and realizing that the marks on Bluestreak's frame and the damage done to the hallway walls—as well as the dents left on his lips—had been left by the twins and, it seemed reasonable to conclude, done somewhat against Bluestreak's will.

As soon as Prowl finished that thought, however, Jazz caught wind of it and his temper, which had died down as soon as Bluestreak had ran from their rooms, returned with a wicked vengeance. "Now, ya ain't tryin' to tell me that you were gonna do somethin' to a 'bot that might belong to someone else, would ya?" he asked the twins, his tone deceptively calm considering the rage that was building in his spark. Everyone on the _Ark_ knew about their relationship with Bluestreak, and even though not everyone necessarily _liked_ it, it was completely uncalled for to go after another mech's (or pair of mech's, in this case) lover in such a sneaky and deceiving manner.

"Depends on your definition of _belonging_, doesn't it?" Sunstreaker said, crossing his arms and shifting his hips in a manner that probably should have looked threatening, but came across as juvenile and petulant to the officers. "For example, some mechs _belong_ with their own kind, instead of living in a pretend world."

"I don't know, Sunny," Jazz replied, voice still light even though Prowl could feel his anger reverberating across the bond. The yellow twin stiffened visibly with irritation as the saboteur used the nickname his brother had called him, being purposefully offensive. "Way I was brought up, I was taught that those sorts of choices should be left up to the 'bots themselves. 'Course, some mechs just can't face it when they're told _no_, can they?" At this, Jazz gave the twins a pointed look, but (not surprisingly), neither of them seemed to care.

"If you'll excuse us, we need to finish escorting Bluestreak back to our quarters," Prowl said, feeling a sense of satisfaction as he noticed the sour expression on the twins' faces when he emphasized _where_ they were taking Bluestreak. "I suggest that you two return to your rooms as well."

"Well, Prowl, sir, do you want to know what I _suggest_?" Sideswipe asked, clearly challenging the older mech. Before Prowl could respond that _no_, he didn't particularly care one bit what Sideswipe thought, the red mech continued. "I _suggest_ that once he wakes up from his recharge, you remind Bluestreak here what we Autobots do to traitors and to spies." The Lamborghini smirked. "It wouldn't be very appropriate for the Second- and Third-in-Command to end up bonded to a Decepticon, would it?"

Before Jazz or Prowl could even _ask_ what the Pit Sideswipe was talking about, the pair turned around and headed back in the direction that they had come from, each of them whispering to each other and laughing softly. From the other side of Bluestreak's unresponsive chassis, Jazz met his bondmate's optics, confusion plainly written across his faceplates. _What the frag was that supposed to mean? _he asked Prowl, who shook his head, equally perplexed.

_I don't have any idea_, the Datsun responded as the mates continued making their way towards their quarters. _But I think that Sideswipe might have inadvertently coined us in on whatever might be bothering Bluestreak. Why else would he make such an obvious comment about infiltrators and Decepticons?_

_Ya aren't actually suggesting that Bluestreak might be_ … Jazz said, trailing off as Prowl reassured him through the link that no, he _knew_ that Bluestreak was and always would be an Autobot. _Well, if that ain't what it is, then what else might that remark might've meant?_

_We'll have to ask Bluestreak when he wakes up_, Prowl said, venting with relief as the doors to their quarters finally revealed themselves as they turned the corner. Without another word or exchange between the two of them, the mated pair managed to get Bluestreak inside and situated on their berth. Then, after making sure that both of their recharge cycles were set to end as soon as they felt any movement coming from the gray mech in between them, the older 'bots settled down themselves for a few breems of rest.

* * *

Bluestreak came online slowly, his systems activating sluggishly as he recognized that his frame was surprisingly warm and that he was laying on something incredibly soft. However, as he became more and more aware, the memories of the previous cycle returned—his fight with Prowl and Jazz and his encounter with the twins—and he panicked as he realized that he was so warm because he was _surrounded_ by two other mechs. Fearing the worst, Bluestreak desperately thought, _oh please, please tell me that I didn't go back with the twins to their room …_

Luckily for Bluestreak, however, his lovers had woken up just as he started to reboot, and were already holding onto him and gently trying to rouse him as he back to panic and shake. "Wake up, baby Blue, it's okay," Jazz whispered, hoping that it wasn't their presence, specifically, that was making the young mech so upset … although he wasn't too pleased that Bluestreak was so troubled in the first place. When he got his hands on the front liners, they wouldn't even _know_ what had hit them …

As Jazz's melodic voice registered in his audios, Bluestreak was finally able to power on his optics, and with a sigh of relief, he realized that it _wasn't_ the twins that he'd gone to the berth with—although he couldn't remember exactly _how_ he'd gotten into Prowl and Jazz's quarters. But before Bluestreak could even online his vocalizer to ask a single question, Prowl's fingers came to rest over his lips, silencing him. With a questioning look, Bluestreak turned his gaze towards the other Praxian, who smiled sadly at him.

"Bluestreak, before you say anything, Jazz and I have something that we'd like to tell you," Prowl said, wincing as he saw the pained expression those words created on Bluestreak's face. _He probably thinks we're angry with him and that we're going to leave him_, he realized, and moved to reassure the gunner by petting his doorwings with servos that were only slightly shaking. "Bluestreak, we—I—want to apologize for our actions last cycle. We should have known that you were too tired to interface, and we should have been honest from the start with our intentions to have you spend the evening with us."

"An' I'm sorry for losin' my temper with ya, lover," Jazz added, running his fingers along Bluestreak's chevron, unable to meet the other mech's gaze as he apologized. "I shoulda never told you that you couldn't come back. I want ya to know that no matter what, you're _always_ welcome in our quarters and in our berth, if that's what ya want. We love you, Bluestreak, an' that's not gonna change any time soon."

Bluestreak felt coolant pooling in his optics again, and a familiar pain began building in his spark. Oh, how long had he been fantasizing about hearing his lovers admit to loving him and wanting him like this? But all the same, he could never actually bond with them, or even merge sparks with them … the instant they saw his red, _Decepticon_ spark, they'd leave. _They deserve to know, though_, Bluestreak told himself, realizing with a start that he loved the two so much—more than he had even realized—that he couldn't continue lying to them, even if it meant the end of their relationship (and, potentially, his life).

"I'm sorry for-" Bluestreak tried to say, but this time it was Jazz who silenced him, leaning over his chassis to press a quick, and shockingly chaste kiss on his lip components.

"Sorry, baby, but we're not finished yet. Gotta get alla this out before we lose our nerve, yeah?" he said, and even though Jazz was smiling, Bluestreak could see how strained it was. "After you left, me'n'Prowl just sat here for what felt like forever, jus' starin' at the floor and missin' ya and kickin' ourselves for just lettin' you run out so easily. Ironhide found ya in the hallway, and he told us a few things that made us realize that we need to tell ya exactly how we feel instead of tryin' to make _you_ move things forward."

"Bluestreak," Prowl cut in, feeling uncharacteristically uncertain and emotional at the moment. _I'm going to have to spend several duty cycles doing nothing but paperwork and handing out punishment detail in order to get this out of my systems_, he jokingly told Jazz across their bond in an effort to ground himself. "We love you. And it would greatly honor us both if you would consent to merging sparks with us and …" Prowl braced himself—although he hadn't asked properly the first time, Bluestreak had still rejected them, and he feared that dismissal more than he cared to admit—"perhaps, bonding with us."

Before Prowl could even really finish speaking, Bluestreak had already began shaking his helm, the tears that had been threatening to spill over finally pouring down his cheek plating. "I'm s-sorry!" he cried out, and Jazz and Prowl felt so bad for their lover's reaction that his second refusal of their offer to bond didn't even sting; they were too worried about comforting Bluestreak, Jazz drawing Bluestreak back into his embrace while Prowl settled in between the other Praxian's legs, running his hands over Bluestreak's thigh plating in a manner meant to soothe him.

"What's wrong, Blue? Please, please tell us," Jazz coaxed, wondering what in the Pit had made Bluestreak so upset. If it was because Bluestreak actually _didn't_ love them, and he no longer wanted to be with them, the special ops mech would have figured that Bluestreak's reaction would have been different. He never would have imagined him to be so _devastated_ when _he_ was the one turning _them_ down.

"You'll hate m-me," Bluestreak said, ducking his head down to avoid looking at either of the mechs holding him. Prowl, however, was not going to let Bluestreak do this to himself—or to _them_—and he bent his head down, pressing his forehead against the gunner's so that Bluestreak had no where else to look besides Prowl's optics. Already, Prowl had a sneaking suspicion that the strange remark that Sideswipe had made earlier had something to do with Bluestreak's reluctance to merge sparks with them.

Using the most reassuring tone he could manage, Prowl softly said, "Bluestreak, while we were bringing you back to our quarters, we met Sideswipe and Sunstreaker in the hallway." Neither 'bot could ignore the way Bluestreak suddenly tensed at the mention of the Lamborghini's names, and Jazz promised himself that _after_ he got revenge on those aft-heads, he would tell _Ironhide_ what they had done as well. The older mech would definitely work them over; that is, if Prowl decided to let them out of the brig before they rusted over due to old age.

"And before they left, Sideswipe told us to say something to you about … about Decepticon traitors," Prowl continued, watching Bluestreak's expression shift from fearful to downright _horrified_. Quickly, Prowl added, "Bluestreak, we want you to know that there's nothing that you can say that will make us hate you or turn you away. But, please, you have to tell us what's bothering you so much. What did Sideswipe mean when he told us to ask you that?"

Bluestreak took a deep, shuddering in-vent. _All right_, he told himself, _this is it_. Despite what Prowl said to him, Bluestreak was sure that once he'd told them the truth, they'd be racing each other out of the door. Still, it was the least that they deserved. "What … what Sideswipe meant when he said that was," Bluestreak paused, wondering if there was a way he could word the situation without it making it sound as bad as it really was. When he couldn't think of a single way, he decided that getting things over with as quickly as possible was probably his best strategy. _What is it that Spike always says_, he asked himself, _about how tearing off one of their human bandages hurts less if you do it quickly and all at once? _

"My creator was a Seeker," he admitted, offlining his optics so that he wouldn't have to see the horrified expressions on Jazz and Prowl's face as he confessed his secret. "He died in the raid on Praxus, so he wasn't a Decepticon or anything but he _was_ my creator and I hate that it's there but some of my programming is just like his and I know that Autobots are supposed to have blue sparks but mine is red but after what the Decepticons did to my city I knew that I could never fight for them so I became an Autobot but it's all a lie and I didn't want to merge or bond with you because I didn't want you to know and hate me for it but I love you too much to keep lying to you … please, I'm so sorry!" As the barrage of words came to a halt, Bluestreak lost himself to painful sobs of remorse and self-hatred. _Why couldn't I just be a full Praxian mech, like Prowl or at least not some half-Decepticon trash_, he thought, despising his creator and the inherited coding he had received from the mech.

Jazz simply blinked as his processors worked overtime trying to muddle through everything that Bluestreak had confessed. He had to admit … he was a little underwhelmed. _That's it? _he asked Prowl, who—Jazz could sense—was just as perplexed as he was. _All of that drama just because his creator was a warrior model? Does he really think that none of the other Autobots have that sort of programming?_

_It's possible that no one has ever told him otherwise_, Prowl suggested as he cradled Bluestreak's helm between his hands, tilting the younger mech's head up so that it was even with his own. Before Bluestreak could even react, Prowl was pressing his lips against the gunner's, giving him a kiss not unlike the reassuring peck Jazz had given him only a few kliks earlier. "Bluestreak, none of that matters to us. It's okay that your creator was from Vos; I'm fairly certain that Tracks' carrier was a Seeker femme, and the mech who created Sideswipe and Sunstreaker was a gladiator model from Kaon."

_The twins_ … Jazz's voice, even across the bond, was murderous. "Blue, love …" Jazz started, pressing himself up behind Bluestreak as closely as possible and wrapping his arms around Bluestreak's midsection to pull the shaking, distraught 'bot even nearer, "did Sideswipe and Sunstreaker tell ya that somethin' bad would happen to ya if anyone ever found out that your creator was a Seeker?"

Bluestreak was surprised, to say the least, when Prowl and Jazz _didn't_ respond immediately with revulsion and loathing and instead hugged him closer and even kissed him. He was absolutely _floored_, however, when Prowl told him that it didn't even _matter_ to them. He'd been so _sure_ that he'd be completely dismantled … and it didn't even make a _difference? _But when Jazz mentioned Sideswipe and Sunstreaker—who'd told him, from the very fragging _beginning_—that he was practically a Decepticon living in the Autobot's ranks and that he was in danger of being deactivated in anybot ever found out his secret, his spark began to burn with a sudden, blinding fury. "I'm going to _kill_ them," he hissed, his worries completely dissipating in the face of his burning anger. "I thought that you would both leave me the _miliklik_ you found out and have me killed and they knew the whole _fragging time_ that it was a _lie_!"

_Might be time for some damage control, Prowl baby_, Jazz cut in as Bluestreak's anger—which he had never really seen first-hand before, and yeah, now that the kid mentioned it, there was _definitely_ some of that infamous Seeker temper programmed in there somewhere—built up. _Otherwise Blue might rip the twins to shreds before we can even get them back for puttin' him through so much._

_I think we can redirect his attention for the time being_, Prowl sent back. "We'll deal with them later, Bluestreak. What is important now is that you know that no matter who your creator was, or what your programming is, Jazz and I love you and nothing will ever change that. You're an Autobot, and I'm proud to say that I trust you with my life on the battlefield."

Bluestreak felt himself slowly calming as Prowl's words sank into his CPU. His lover was right; the twins would be punished, especially since his interfacing partners were two of the highest-ranking officers in the Autobot army. And they _loved_ Bluestreak … the thought brought a smile back to the gray mech's lips. He was _loved_ and they didn't _care_ and so maybe …

"Yes," he whispered, smiling even wider when Prowl's optics went wide and Jazz went rigid behind him with shock as what he said fully hit the other two mechs. "I've wanted to for so long, but I never thought that I could because of … well,"—he felt embarrassed now to even mention it … _why did I ever listen to the twins in the first place? _—"But I want to stay with you and be with you because I love you and I think I always have loved you and—" Before he could say anymore, Bluestreak was cut off mid-sentence by Prowl, who lunged forward and pressed another kiss to his lip components, although this one was far-less innocent than the previous kiss had been. Anything else Bluestreak might have said was lost the moment Prowl's glossa invaded his oral cavity, the tactician kissing him as though they had been separated for a megavorn rather than a few joors.

Jazz hummed appreciatively as his two Praxian lovers proceeded to make out in front of him like two younglings who had just discovered their interfacing hardware for the very first time. _The best part about any fight_, he thought as he reached to massage Bluestreak's doorwings, which were fluttering distractedly in front of his face, _is making-up afterwards_. Already, he could feel his spike beginning to pressurize and his valve lubricating in preparation for either (or both) of his lovers. "Want you," he whispered, not being specific because he wanted both of them equally (and, preferably, at the same time).

With a groan, Prowl pulled away so that his mate could turn Bluestreak's helm around and claim the sharpshooters lips in a kiss of his own. While the other two mechs in his berth were otherwise occupied, Prowl reached down, cupping Bluestreak's codpiece and pulling a moan from the younger mech, although much of the sound was lost into Jazz's mouth. "Let me in," Prowl commanded, wanting to touch Bluestreak like no other mech besides himself and Jazz had ever touched him—and, as soon as they were bonded, in ways no other mech ever _would_ touch him. With a soft _click_, Bluestreak's panel retracted, revealing his port to Prowl, who wasted no time in guiding three fingers into the warm, wet heat of his lover.

Bluestreak gasped as Prowl began fingering his valve, expertly locating each of his most sensitive spots in a way that only a lover who truly _knew_ him was able to. Likewise, Jazz was petting his doorwings and letting his fingers rest over sensor nodes in the sensitive appendages just like he preferred it. Once again, Bluestreak was utterly amazed at how much he _loved_ both of the mechs he had become involved with … and he wanted nothing more than to make sure that they knew it, and that he was able to bring them just as much pleasure and joy as they were able to give to him.

"Jazz," he said as he pulled away from the saboteur, whose optics had gone offline from the intensity of the kiss. Through some sort of acrobatic maneuver that Bluestreak would probably never be able to replicate, the sharpshooter managed to turn around so that he was facing Jazz while not dislodging Prowl's fingers from his valve. "Jazz, will you let me have you?" he asked, hissing as his spike extended into Prowl's other hand, the tactician quickly beginning to stroke the newly-exposed equipment.

"Forever," Jazz responded with a smirk on his faceplates, but Bluestreak was able to see the serious glint in the other mech's visored optics. It sent a rush through his spark—getting revenge on Sideswipe and Sunstreaker wasn't important; _this_ was. Bluestreak was barely able to wait for Jazz's codpiece to slide away before he was guiding himself into the special ops mech, going slowly and savoring the experience as though he had never taken Jazz before.

Prowl watched hungrily as Bluestreak took his mate. From across the bond, he was able to sense quite a bit of Jazz's second-hand emotions and sensations, and the faint feel of a spike entering him so slow and deep was revving up his own systems so much he was certain that his energon was boiling in his tubing. Bluestreak's valve was clenching tight around his fingers even as he set up a rhythm thrusting into Jazz; even without having a bond in place—_yet_—Prowl knew instinctively what the younger mech needed from him. Without a word, he withdrew his fingers, and even before the sharpshooter had the chance to complain, Prowl entered him from behind, sliding in deep.

"_Prowl_," Bluestreak gasped, feeling complete now that he was having both of his lovers at the same time. His sensuous movements were slowly taken over by Prowl, who assumed control of their lovemaking and forced Bluestreak to go harder and faster, building them all up to a mind-blowing overload which the gunner was sure would blow out each and every one of his circuits. His chassis was tingling as well, his spark pulsing and beating wildly, almost as if it had developed a will of its own. Bluestreak had felt the urge to merge before—all bots did at one point or another—but never had the need been so _strong_.

Jazz panted loudly through his vents; not only was what he was physically feeling so indescribably incredible, but the show on display above him—Bluestreak's optics falling shut in ecstasy as Prowl drilled into him with increasing intensity—was almost enough to melt his CPU. Reaching up to pull the gray mech down to him so that their lip components were brushing, Jazz whispered, "You like how that feels, Blue baby? Havin' him inside of you while you're inside of me?" When Bluestreak whimpered and nodded weakly, Jazz added, "Lover, that's how it's gonna feel all the time when we're bonded. Ya can feel _everything_ one of your mates is doin' … we're gonna make you forget your designation at least four times an orn."

_I doubt we'll be interfacing that much_, Prowl told his mate, although he had to admit that the thought was definitely … _enticing_. Spreading his servos out, the tactician began to rub and massage Bluestreak's doorwings, which forced another cry of pleasure from his vocalizer. "You sound close, Bluestreak," Prowl said, his voice barely audible over the sounds of their lovemaking. "Are you ready to overload for us?"

Bluestreak didn't know what to do—he wanted to kiss Jazz, he wanted to _fuck_ Jazz, but he also wanted to have Prowl keep touching his doorwings and bite at his neck cables as he fucked _him_ and he wanted … he wanted … Without his conscious consent, Bluestreak felt his armor locks and clasps begin to come apart with a loud _hiss_. "I _need_," Bluestreak whimpered, feeling too hot and too aroused to worry about his lover's reactions or the looks they might give him. He _needed_ to merge; there was nothing else to it.

Jazz's mouth rounded out into a surprised 'O' shape as red light flared in between his chassis and Bluestreak's as the gunner's chest armor separated. Before he could stop himself, he was pushing at Bluestreak's shoulders, angling his lover so that he could catch a glimpse of that pulsing orb so tantalizingly close to his own. "Oh, _Blue_," he whispered, unable to look away from the shining essence which was his youngest lover. "Can't remember ever seein' something so beautiful."

_Not ever? _Prowl asked teasingly, although he understood Jazz's sentiment exactly. With Jazz and Prowl, they had been learning everything about the other together, and when it came to merging, they were equally inexperienced. But Bluestreak was new, and he was a mystery to both of them. Prowl grunted as he pulled himself away from the gray mech beneath him; his interfacing systems were aching and tingling with the need for release, but Prowl was not going to settle for a spike-overload this time. He wanted to merge with his lovers, all at once, and in order to do that … a little rearranging was required.

Bluestreak keened with loss when Prowl pulled out of his valve—the sound became an even more pained as Jazz shuffled out from under him as well. He had been _so close_ to overloading, and his spark was throbbing with excess energy that he needed to dispel and … they pulled away? _Maybe they were lying to me_, he thought, feeling drugged and yet strangely aware, his thoughts jumping from one place to another in an almost disconnected fashion. _Maybe they wanted to torture me first, put me on the edge of overload and then leave me? I'll overheat if I don't get this charge out of me, my engines will explode and my systems will fry and I'll be dead and—_

"Shhhh," Prowl whispered, shifting Bluestreak so that he was kneeling, the bulk of his weight resting against the other Datsun as Jazz snuggled in close to them. With a series of soft noises, Prowl's chest armor began to self-release, and through the bond, the tactician could easily sense his bondmate's eagerness and excitement as Jazz followed suit. "We'll take care of you, Bluestreak."

_What? _Bluestreak thought, staring in disbelieving wonder as Prowl and Jazz revealed their sparks to him. They were both blue—as the gunner would have expected—but the shades were different. Prowl's spark was darker, reminding Bluestreak of the precious stone the humans called sapphire. Jazz's spark was lighter, like the Earth's sky on a warm, cloudless day. Just like the first time they had interfaced, Bluestreak noticed how Jazz and Prowl's sparks shared the same pulse. The gray mech grinned; one orn, soon, he knew his spark would share a pulse with the officers' sparks as well.

"You're always gonna have us, baby," Jazz said, wrapping his arm around each of his lovers' shoulders as he leaned forward. The outer energy field of Jazz's spark briefly grazed across Bluestreak's, causing an eruption of sparks. The sensation—like falling freely through a lightening storm—raced through the sharpshooter's circuits, paralyzing his joints and his vocalizer with its intensity. All Bluestreak was capable of doing was simply _feeling_ the life energies of his partners brushing up so close to his own.

The happiness that Jazz felt as his spark's energy ghosted against Bluestreak's for the first time rivaled the joy he had experienced when he had merged and bonded with Prowl. Across the bond, Jazz could sense Prowl's astonishment that they were finally here, about to merge with the gunner. They had fantasized about it for so long, it almost seemed unreal that it was about to happen.

_It's happening_, Prowl told Jazz warmly as he leaned forward, fully immersing his spark energy with both his mate's and Bluestreak's, the two blue sparks joining with the red, blending together until a soft purple glow shined through the small gaps and spaces of their armor. But the side-effects of their merge were lost on the trio; each of them were lost in a sea of ecstasy, each sensation carried over threefold as everything that they were—Bluestreak, Prowl, and Jazz—joined and combined so that they simply _were_, inseparable in every sense of the word.

Bluestreak's vocalizer onlined long enough for him to _scream_ as an overload tore through the three of them simultaneously, making their bodies jerk and spasm uncontrollably as the light from their combined sparks became blindingly bright. Even as his systems began to offline one by one due to the strength of his overload, Bluestreak became aware of the presence of another—of _two_ others—inside of him, each of them equally struck with passion and satisfaction. _You're still with me_, Bluestreak thought as his main processors began their recharging sequences, pulling him that much closer to unconsciousness. Warmth pulsed throughout his frame as Bluestreak felt himself fall forward onto the soft berth, surrounded by his lovers.

The last thing that Bluestreak heard before sleep claimed him was neither a thought nor words spoken by another 'bot—rather, it was something _like_ a thought, but not one of its own. It was both playful and strong, fiercely loyal and shockingly passionate, with undertones of love and _oursoursours …_

_You're always gonna have us …_

_

* * *

_

Bluestreak had to admit—onlining in Prowl and Jazz's berth and sandwiched between the two officers had to be the single greatest way of waking up. _Ever_. On either side of him, his lovers were still unconscious, each looking pleased with himself and holding onto Bluestreak tightly. Bluestreak's motherboard was still running a little slow, and the young gunner knew that he should probably go back into recharge himself but … but for a moment, he just needed to take it all it. He needed to feel the slight ache in his valve and the itch of still-drying lubricant and transfluid on his spike. He needed to feel the seams of his chassis armor still tingling from the amount of raw energy that had blasted through them. He needed to remind himself that none of it had been a recharge dream, that he _had_ merged with Prowl and Jazz, that they had seen his spark and instead of demanding that he be deactivated they had allowed their perfect, beautiful sparks to touch his own.

The gray mech laughed quietly. While he had been lost inside of Jazz and Prowl, a funny memory had been passed along to him … _if only I had_ known _that they had actually peaked at my spark the very first time we interfaced, none of this would have even happened_, Bluestreak thought, although truthfully, he was in too good of a mood to be upset that he had been so scared and angry for so long. And now that he knew the truth, Bluestreak knew that things would never have to go back to the way that they had been before—he wouldn't have to stay awake most nights, too scared to stay with Prowl and Jazz but too scared to recharge on his own because of the nightmares. He could be _here_, warm and safe and _loved_. It was a good thing to know.

They hadn't bonded, not yet. Bluestreak let his optics offline as he nestled his head in between Jazz's helm and his shoulder plating while pulling one of Prowl's hands up to rest over his abdominal armor. It would be awhile before that would happen; he'd spent so long trying to keep them out, and merging had revealed to Bluestreak just _how much_ he still needed to show his lovers about himself, just as there was still plenty that he would need to learn about either of them.

Still smiling, Bluestreak let himself drift back off into recharge. They still had a ways to go, but they had all the time in the world to get there.

* * *

**AN2 (aka, this is the part where I explain to you where my head is right now):** First off, I want to apologize to any and all Sunstreaker and Sideswipe fans. I realize that the twins maybe/possibly/definitely came across as rather OOC in this story, but this story needed villains and those two fit the profile best, in my opinion. Fandom likes to paint the twins as being Bluestreak's go-to friends/lovers, so I figured that it might be fun to play with that dynamic a little bit and go in the opposite direction.

Second, there _will_ be more of this, at least two chapters. So the unresolved plotlines from this story _will_ be dealt with eventually; this damn thing got to be 21 pages, and instead of trying to make everything absolutely come together in this one, I went for the lazy "wait and see" route. Just trying to pre-empt the "YOU CAN'T JUST END IT HERE!"s before they start, LOL. :D

MUCH LOVE!


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